


Deny thy Father

by Lumielles



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Father Figures, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumielles/pseuds/Lumielles
Summary: 3 short stories, all sharing a similar theme.  One of the characters says "You're not my father!".Featuring Consular Idan and his Padawan Terrance, younger Idan and his daughter Aramys, and then Idan and his father, Echren.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Deny thy Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainDeryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainDeryn/gifts).



> This one was entirely inspired by a joke made with CaptainDeryn, who Terrance belongs to, after we saw that 'get out of the tank' video.

The last forty-seven minutes had been spent searching both the upper and lower promenades. Five times, he’d circled the giant gilded Hutt, but only once had he nearly fallen into the shallow moat around it. Even the energetic vendors had stopped trying to sell him things from their kiosks; recognizing him for several failed attempts. None of them had been helpful in Idan’s search, all of them shrugging when asked if they’d seen a young Miraluka boy.

“Five in the past hour, but I think a few credits might help me narrow it down.”

“Sir,” Idan took a breath, “The only way my money will reach your hands is if I buy something.”

“Do you want—” he turned around and gestured to the junky knickknacks on the shelf behind him. 

“No,” Idan cut him off, deadpan.

Worthless prizes for tourists to bring home to prove they’d been brave enough to venture into the untamed casinos of the loudest planet Idan had ever stepped foot on. It wasn’t just the droning sounds of air traffic or the incessant talking advertisements—The force felt louder than all of it. Greed oozed out of the walls of each establishment he passed. The pain that it masked also came from within, both patrons and workers alike. It seemed as if the only people who wanted to be here were from off-planet.

“Terrance, where are you?” Idan grumbled to himself as he set back off on his search.

Usually, he would try to center himself—Use the force to locate his wayward Padawan. But that was useless—each time he tried he ended up sensing everyone else. The headache pounded against the back of his eyes and settled between his furrowed brow. Again, he set off through a narrow passage leading to the taxi departures. Perhaps Terrance had sulked his way back there, impatiently waiting to leave.

No luck.

On his way back to circle the unsightly Hutt statue, he noticed a tank-like luxury speeder on display. A contest was being held, enter your name on a ticket to win the speeder of a lifetime. He stopped in his tracks, observing the speeder from several meters across the lower promenade. A black-haired head appeared out of the open cockpit and disappeared again.

Realization struck through Idan like lightning as he closed in on the speeder, trying to attract as little attention as possible on his way over. Velvet rope circled it, deterring anyone from climbing it or getting inside. A sign requested no climbing or touching. 

“Terrance!” Idan hissed.

A head full of black shaggy appeared, then an eye mask; followed immediately by a shit-eating grin, “Hi, Master.”

“You get out of that thing right now!” Idan ordered, his accent thicker in the tone he was using, the lilt of his words was strong, “You’re not allowed in there! It says right on the sign!”

“Was there a sign? I can’t read.” Terrance disappeared back into the speeder, his voice muffled, “I’m not going anywhere, it’s cool as hell in here. It doesn’t smell like Hutt butt.”

Idan’s tongue clicked against the top of his mouth, hip popped in frustration as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“If someone comes by here and see you crawling around in it, we might have an issue on our hands.”

“I’m a Jedi, I’ll just them I’m commandeering the vehicle for the Republic,” Terrance popped his head out of the window again, “What are they gonna do? Arrest a Jedi?”

“We’re not in Republic space, Terrance,” Idan sighed, “They can most assuredly arrest you.”

“I’m not getting out.”

“Terrance,” Idan put his hands on his hips.

“You’re not my father,” Terrance mumbled as he disappeared again.

The words hurt more than Idan had ever expected them too. No, he wasn’t Terrance’s father—not by blood. But he saw the boy in the same light he saw his own children. His stubbornness reminded him of Aramys; his vulnerability reminded him of Brevom. All those jokes he’d made to himself about not having to raise a teenager—it helped numb the agony of being without them-had proved false. He’d been raising a teenager for the past year, though it hadn’t been his idea. He and Terrance had been thrown together in the expectation they’d fail.

Being ex-Sith turned the Order’s only hope for protection against an illness no one had ever seen before hadn’t made him many friends—Even members of the Council treated him with disdain and mistrust. They’d been vocal over their disagreement that the lives of prestigious masters be left in the hands of someone so…

Imperial.

Every day the Empire felt farther away, a lifetime ago—a life belonging to someone else. And with each additional meter the Empire drifted, the faces of his children and their mother became more obscured by memory. The sounds of their voices were like static in his ears, white noise that he could no longer discern from the roar of the galaxy around him.

Terrance had made that easier, it gave him a reason to care about someone outside of himself. He was never very good at caring about himself—his self-worth sat entirely in the hands of others.

A police droid’s speeder zoomed overhead, and Idan’s attention returned quickly to his speeder-dwelling Padawan, “You’re right. I’m not your father, I’m the wrong species—But I _am_ your mentor and your friend, so, please. Get out of that blasted thing before someone sees you. The last thing we need is the Council breathing down our necks because we got arrested.”

A long silence met him, but the force had shifted between them. Sharp annoyance had melted into the soft contemplation, and Idan heard a shuffle from inside the tank.

“I’ve never really had a friend before,” he heard Terrance mumbled, his voice muffled and barely audible as he still sat in the speeder.

“Terrance—” Idan began, his heart aching. He knew that loneliness all too well.

“I’m coming,” he said quickly, his cloak billowed behind him as he leapt from the enclosed cockpit. He carefully stepped over the velvet rope, fully aware of its location.

Idan scoffed, “You couldn’t read the sign, sure. But what did you think the barrier ropes meant?”

“VIP section,” Terrance said flatly.

“Very funny. Do you want to get something for dinner on the way back to the ship? I saw a restaurant that boasted having the greatest nerfburger in the galaxy.”

“Us Jedi aren’t supposed to eat meat,” Terrance fought a smirk.

“The Order can tell me what to do, what to think, and what to say. I’ll be damned if they can tell me what to eat.” Idan sighed, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

The smirk became a beaming grin, a real smile. A rare occurrence for Terrance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master Lumielle.”

“That’s the spirit,” Idan gently pressed a hand against Terrance’s back.


End file.
